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Quote by Marianne Boruch

Work

Cadaver, Speak

In this thought-provoking novel, the reader is taken on a journey through the afterlife as seen through the eyes of a recently deceased character. The narrative delves into themes of existence, morality, and the search for meaning beyond death. more

Author

Marianne Boruch
Marianne Boruch

Marianne Boruch is an American poet born in June 1950. Her poetry is known for its profound emotion and unique style, exploring themes of human existence. more

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“Every act of reading is an act of forgetting: the experience of reading is a palimpsest, in which each text partially covers those that came before. Those books that allow us to forget the most are accorded he authority of the classic.”

ScienceReadingForgettingClassicsCanonHistory Of SciencePalimpsest
Book:Victorian Sensation: The Extraordinary Publication, Reception, and Secret Authorship of Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation
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“Here, supposing that neither Harry Perkins nor the servants nor some outsider called ‘X’ had killed Stephen Anthony, was a murderer. He or she was drinking with the rest, talking with the rest casually, remembering little family jokes with the rest and saying with them, ‘Remember when we all—’ and laughing when they laughed. And perhaps the murderer, sitting there with the others, almost forgot at times he was a murderer, because even a murderer cannot always remember, as the grief-stricken cannot always remember grief. But it must come back again and again, that sense of being a murderer. Sometimes it must come in the middle of speech, confusing a thought already formulated—it must go round and round in the head, the knowledge of murder and of pursuit. The thought that shrewd men and clumsy men, intelligent men and dogged men, men in blue uniforms and men in slouch hats, were everywhere after you must make a coldness in your mind. Here a man was talking to somebody, and perhaps a word would give you away. Here a man was peering through a comparison microscope at tiny scratches on a piece of metal, and perhaps some scratch would give you away. Here a man was sifting through papers, steadily, unwearingly, looking for some written word that would give you away. And when he was tired, another man would look. And somewhere men in white uniforms were probing with knives into the body of the man you had killed, looking for something which would give you away. All over the city, you would think, men would be searching for you—in words and in metal, in scraps of paper, in the things you did yesterday and the things your victims had planned to do tomorrow—and there would be no stopping them. Because, whatever they tolerated, the police did not tolerate murder, or ever give up looking for a murderer.”

ConscienceMurderForgettingRelentless Pursuit
Book:Hanged for a Sheep
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“I want to pour libation and summon the gods, undo what has been done, utter sacred words to quell the fires, reduce to cinders promises made. I want an assembly of diviners and sorcerers to chase away the evil spirits, to recapture the present once more. I therefore call upon each and every one of you, djinns with hideous faces, juju-makers with terrifying powers. Come from all directions. I want to make peace, escape through my pores, flee through my mouth and return to the earth. I need the spell that will erase memories.”

MemoryForgetting
Book:As the Crow Flies
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